Intensity
by Adorelo
Summary: BB - Because dreaming about it was hard, but it was so much easier than having to deal with the intensity of a connection you don’t understand. - Updated 09/08/08 -


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_AN: Edited September 8th, 2008._

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_-- Suenos--_

_-- Adorelo--_

Dreaming about something can be difficult; wishing, waiting for something that may or may not happen. Wondering about your darkest thoughts, considering whether or not you should really be thinking them. Wishing there was someone there to hear you when you don't say anything at all; someone to hear you screaming when you haven't even opened your mouth. Someone to anticipate your feelings, your actions, when you don't know what they are or what they should be yourself. Just someone.

Anyone.

But then, when that person finally shows up... when he is there and, for some strange reason, understand exactly what you mean without you even telling him, you start to push him away. Because dreaming about it was hard, but it was so much easier than having to deal with the intensity of a connection you don't understand. And when you sit down after a case, just to be alone and reminisce, he pinpoints the _exact_ moment you need him the most to walk through the door. Then he just sits. And you love that! You love the fact there is no need for words, no need for false conversation, because he knows exactly what you need and that scares you. It scares you because you have never had anyone like that before. You have friends, truly amazing friends; they talk things through, they offer advice, but they never just sit the way he does. It's a completely new level of comfort.

Then there's the contact. Just a look he gives that's terrifying because you don't know what to do with it. A look that makes you want to express all the feelings you would normally repress. And you start to retreat.

That's what you do best. Repress. Shut him out and _he knows_. That's the most annoying part. He knows what your doing and sometimes he lets you; he shuts up and bids you farewell with a gentle touch on the arm. But other times, like tonight, he silently refuses; maintains eye contact even when you try to repudiate it. He knows how much you are hurting, how Jenny-Leigh's death is hurting you. How the fact her killer was so remorseless hurts you. And he stays because he knows that, no matter how much you say you don't, you need him. He knows that. He knows you.

You smile slightly at the intensity in his eyes as he enters your office. Open you mouth to say something -- you're not too sure what -- but words fail you. Gone. Just like that. Yet he doesn't seem to need your words, he does it for you.

"Wung fu's?" Two words. Uncountable meanings. Meanings you won't contemplate because that's another thing that is too hard. And you won't go there again. Not to a place where you can be hurt - though really you know he wouldn't. Couldn't.

"Sure," you respond, a lot more confidently than you feel. In truth, you need the company. You need a place where details of the case couldn't be discussed; a place where you can feel free.

Together you leave. Locking up as you go as, once again, you're the last person in the lab. It's not really the working that keeps you behind most nights, its just you take longer than others to adjust to the verdicts. Killer or no killer. Family or no family. You see more than the others do, your usual lightning-speed thinking fails you in these cases. The need to stay behind in your place of work is overwhelming, because it is too damn hard just to walk away from them.

Wung fu's is quieter than usual. The normal place at the bar is uncharacteristically occupied, so you move to a small table-chair fixture near the wall. Sid arrives with the correct drinks and smiles supporting at you; he knows you have had a bad day. The guy doesn't just have a knack with orders.

"Wanna talk?" Booth starts, giving you the push he knows you need. And for some reason it pisses you off. The fact that you _do_ want to talk and the fact that he _knows_ you do is so fucking irritating. You want to lash out, hit him and hurt him, push him away because you can't deal with him right now. You look in his eyes, silently asking him to back off but he just stares back with dogged determination. He is not giving up. You want to fight, but you don't have the energy. Not now. You don't know what else to do.

So you start to cry.

The moment his hand reaches across and takes your you know theirs no going back and, as he places some bills on the table and walks you to the door, you finally give it up. This is Booth. You've got your person to hear you, the person you've been wishing for and you can't push him away anymore. You can't be scared. You wont be. Stood on the street he simply raps his arms around you. The safety you feel is more intense than you could imagine. You hear him inhale the smell of your hair and that's your breaking point. You hear the words coming out but can't feel yourself saying them. Its like a dream and he's the only one you can see.

He rubs your back telling you he know how hard it is and that doesn't annoy you, even though perhaps it should. You both know what its like; you both need someone after a case. If you don't, you lose yourself in the darkness. You feel his hand on your face, smile slightly as he bends his neck to softly kiss the tears off your cheek. He stares so passionately at you lips as he brushes at the red marks left by the salt that your heart stops. He slowly leans down, and you stop him with a soft utterance of his name.

"Booth…"

He pulls back sharply, dropping your face but not stepping back. It's now his turn to avoid eye contact. "I'm sorry Temperance. Sorry… I-I…I'm sorry Bones," he needlessly apologizes, and you have to stop him but you can't find the words to describe what you want to say. Although that's probably because you don't _know_ what to say. So you look him in the eyes and let the conversation take place that way. Because as much as you want this, as much as you want him, you're not ready to take that risk. And it's okay because you know he understands, the small nod confirming your beliefs. You catch a look at the time on the clock through he window. Late. You realize now how tired you are.

"I should go." Your words sound small and feeble but, for once, you don't care.

"Yeah, me too." His hand brushes against your arm as he moves to his car, and you silently thank yourself for the friend you probably don't deserve. The friend you push away and you suddenly have a deep urge to tell him how much you care for him; to tell him just how grateful you are.

"Booth?" you call, for the second time that night. And, as he turns, words fail you once again. It irks you that he has this effect on you, but, in the heat of the moment, or what ever they call it, you walk over to him with a confidence you thought you didn't posses, and place a soft kiss on the corner of his mouth. Not quiet committing, but tender enough to let him know what you want him to hear.

"Good night," you mummer as you turn to your car. At the door you turn to hear his engine turn on, see a small wave and a sad smile.

And with that he was gone.

_-- Fin-- _

_-- April 23rd, 2007 -- _


End file.
